Mirage

by Soheir Khashoggi

  “What plans?”

  Toni looked straight at her, breaking the news. “Jenna, he says he’s going to al-Remal—permanently. He’s just waiting for the paperwork to go through, some confusion over his legal identity. Supposedly, some of his relatives—his father’s people—are taking care of it. He said it wouldn’t be more than a few days.”

  A few days. Her son would be lost to her in a few days.

  “What was he like? What did he say?” What did he say about me? she meant. “It’s funny,” said Toni. “Mainly he talked with Jabr. Lots of questions about al-Remal, the customs. Islam—very interested in Islam. Jabr got very serious then and quoted some verses from the Koran about honoring one’s mother. But that may not have been the way to handle it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Karim clammed up. Not exactly clammed up, but he got stuffy.” “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if you want to hear this.” “Of course, I do.”

  “Okay. I took notes as soon as we were out of there.” She took out her note- book. “This may not be verbatim, but it’s pretty close: ‘My mother has lied to me all my life. She purposely hid my birthright from me. I never knew my father, and now I’ll never know him because she killed him. I have no desire to see her or speak with her. That’s final.’”

  All through Karim’s childhood, his adolescence, his new young adult- hood, Jenna had used those very words in accusing herself, dreading the day that her son might use them. Now it had happened. “That’s all?” she said. “Nothing more?”

  Toni shook her head. “He showed us the door. Politely, but there was no question we were being given the boot. I asked him to give it some thought, just take some time to think it over. He didn’t even answer. I’m sorry, Jenna. We blew it.”

  “No, you didn’t. You did what I asked. You found him. You talked with him. You didn’t blow it. I did.”

  “No. That’s not right. Jenna, I know you. I know your story. You did the right thing, the only thing you could do. Don’t blame yourself. It’s … just a bad break, that’s all. I know how you feel. I know exactly. But it’s not the end. You should know that. You’re the one who helped me learn it.”

  O

  With Toni’s report, Jenna’s hope turned to desperation, and what had been worry over Karim turned to torture. He was about to vanish from her life, maybe forever. She cast about wildly for a solution, any solution. What if she changed her story, denied that she was Amira Badir? There had been impostors, more than one over the years, claiming to be the lost princess. If the Remalis thought that she was just another pretender, would they still take Karim in? Or maybe she should tell Malik to forget what she had said and send red-haired Ryan on another abduction, this time of Karim.

  That was nonsense, of course. It was too late, too late for anything. And then one evening, it really was too late: the little television in the women’s section brought the news that Karim Rashad, son of the victim and the alleged killer in the Ali Rashad case, had returned to his native land as an honored member of its royal family.

  It was almost as if he had died. Jenna knew that she could never go to al-Remal, never. The other women, sensing her torment, tried to console her, but the pain was too deep.

  Even the promise of freedom barely lifted her spirits.

  “I believe we’ll have bail fixed for you by Monday or Tuesday,” Boyle told her with gruff satisfaction. “Ms. Edmondson has agreed to file an amicus brief with our appeal of the bail hearing. She’s going to tell the court that her office intends to drop the charge of second-degree homicide. She’s willing to reduce the charge to involuntary manslaughter. If you agree to plead guilty, she’ll recommend a sentence of time served, probation, and a couple of hundred hours of community service—free counseling or something of that sort. I recommend that you consider the offer very seriously. On the other hand, I happen to believe that you’re innocent of any crime and that I can prove it in court. But it’s a brutal process, and an expensive one. The decision is yours to make.”

  “I’ll plead guilty,” said Jenna. “I killed him. I didn’t have to.” “Think about it for a day or two.”

  “No. I’m sure. Tell her today.”

  Boyle nodded and closed his briefcase. “You’ll be out of here by this time Tuesday,” he said.

  The next few days were longer than all the others that had gone before. Jenna couldn’t drive the past from her mind, couldn’t separate it from the present. The run from Tabriz. Philippe dead. Years of hiding, lying, fear. All of it to keep her son, to protect him. And now she had lost him anyway, lost him to the place from which she had risked her life to take him.

  Saturday. Visiting hours. A guard called Jenna’s name. The visitor would be Brad. She almost didn’t want to see him. He would be bubbling about her release and his plans for going away together, and she had no heart for it.

  But the person in the visiting room was Laila.

  “Hello, Aunt Jenna. I … I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

  “Please, there’s nothing to be sorry about. My God, it’s so good to see you! “I got to thinking … about my mother, you know—my real mother— and what you did for her. And for me. I wouldn’t even be here without you. I had to come. Not that there’s any comparison, of course. With what you did, I mean.” “I know it was hard for you to come here, Laila. And you did. That’s all that matters. But Laila—wait. I thought you were supposed to be in France.” “I was going there. But I went somewhere else, Aunt Jenna. I went to see Karim.”

  “You did?” Jenna felt a surge of wild hope. “What happened? What did he say?”

  Laila shook her head. “I can’t tell you what you’d like to hear. He’s gone. There’s nothing you could have done to hold him. You probably know that, anyway. But maybe it’s not quite as bad as it seems.”

  Jenna waited.

  “It was David’s idea,” said Laila. “I was always talking about you and Karim, always saying, you know, quel dommage. And one night, David said, ‘Look, no one this kid meets for the rest of his life is going to understand his problem like you do. There’s the phone. Why not give him a call?’ And so I did. I got the number from Jabr.”

  Laila peered around the room with open curiosity, probably wondering, Jenna thought, what lay beyond the door that led to the cells.

  “At first, he didn’t want to talk. Then he did, but it was all … bitterness.

  Anger. I wasn’t getting through to him. So the next day, I flew to Boston. David came with me. Karim was packing. His visa had just come through. The Remali consulate had sent him a ticket and some money. But I managed to talk with him some more. For hours, really.” She shrugged helplessly. “I tried to show him what I had learned for myself, about my father. That it wasn’t his fault—wasn’t your fault. That both of you had done what you thought was best. Karim didn’t want to hear that. I wouldn’t have listened, either, at that stage. But at least I planted a seed. I think he’ll remember. It’s a start.”

  “Laila, whatever you did, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Don’t thank me at all. I didn’t accomplish much.” She looked at Jenna with deep sadness, then suddenly brightened. “But do you know what, Aunt Jenna? I think it’ll be all right. I think he’ll be back someday. He won’t hate al-Remal like I did—and even I could see that the place has a kind of … strength. And beauty. But he’s no more a Remali than I am. The time will come when he’ll long for home—his real home. And he’ll be wiser, then. He’ll begin to understand why you did what you did. I’m sure of it. I know it. What I’m saying is, don’t give up hope.”

  “Laila …” Jenna couldn’t hold back tears. She couldn’t help seeing, in her mind’s eye, the other Laila, that night in al-Masagin. And now it had come full circle.

  Laila smiled. “Don’t cry, Aunt Jenna, or I’ll have to send you to a shrink. Listen, here’s the good news: I made Karim promise to stay in touch with me. I’ll call him—I don’t know, as often as he�
�ll put up with it. That way, it won’t be as if he’s totally disappeared.” She spread her hand on the glass partition for Jenna’s hand to meet. “It’ll work out—you’ll see. But now I have to go.”

  “But you just got here!”

  “Someone else waiting to see you. Bye. See you soon in better surroundings.” She hurried out, stopping just long enough to smile at Brad as he entered. He sat at the partition and looked long and longingly at Jenna.

  “I just talked with Boyle,” he said. “It’s done. You’ll be out on Tuesday. Three more days.” “Good. Thank God.”

  “I talked with Laila, too. A remarkable young woman—no surprise, considering her family. Listen, we’re going to have plenty of time for all those trips I’ve been talking about. I finally realized that they might not be what you want right now. Would you settle for a long weekend at Marblehead? We could take it from the top. Maybe I’ll get it right this time.”

  “Yes,” said Jenna. “Yes. That sounds good.” It did. It sounded very, very good.

  About the Author

  Soheir Khashoggi was born in Alexandria, Egypt, she comes from one of the most prominent and respected families in Saudi Arabia. Her father Dr. Mohammad Khashoggi, Saudi Arabia's first physician and a pioneer in bringing electricity to the country, moved his wife and children to Alexandria in order to further his children's educations in English schools.

  By the age of 14, Soheir was fluent in Arabic, English and French, and was an accomplished artist. Lauded for her literary as well as artistic talent, she continued to win many prizes for her short stories, drawings and paintings during her teen years.

  She attended college at San Jose State in California for one year before relocating to Beirut, Lebanon where she continued her studies at the American University of Beirut. She then completed her degree in art and design at the Interior Design Center of Beirut, and later began her career as an interior designer as well as a fine artist.

  MIRAGE—first published in 1996 in the U.S and in 42 languages—it’s a magnificent saga of the loves and losses of three generations of women. MIRAGE takes you behind the veil of secrecy to express the real lives of women in modern harems and into the hidden world of the Middle Eastern aristocracy.

  Her second novel, NADIA'S SONG published in 1999, in the U.S and other countries. Spanning five decades of turbulent Middle Eastern history, from World War II to the first Gulf war, it is a moving saga of mothers and daughters and the unbreakable bond between them. It is a story of triumph and tragedy, a powerful but forbidden love based in Alexandria, Egypt.

  MOSAIC, her third novel, was published in 2003 in the U.S and other countries. It is a compelling story of love, loss, friendship, and strength. It weaves together cultures and illuminates the difference between the roles of men and women from the East and West.

  Like a modern Scheherazade, Khashoggi spins tales of romance and drama in her wonderful novels.